Who is Capt John H Waston, MD
by marketeerbubbles
Summary: John is invited to a stag party for one of his old army buddies, but when what was intended as the good doctor takes friendly advice poorly, truths come out that Sherlock could never have imagined about his good-natured blogger. John, not to give up answers without something in return gets Sherlock to tell him what it is that drove a wedge so firmly between him and Mycroft.


AN: Scott Smith is supposed to be Irish, not drunk, I was trying to put a Scottish accent into my writing; I hope it works ;)

Also, I use English/Australian spellings. (I am Aussie after all), and I own nothing.

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It was still early evening on Baker Street when John Watson returned from his shift at the clinic. It had been a fairly depressing day. He'd had to give bad news to a gentleman about his deteriorating health, remove three ingrown toenails, been thrown up on twice and help with an overdose patient brought in when St Bart's was deemed to full to take another casualty. He dared think that he deserved a nice quiet night home with a decent meal and a hot cup of tea. He was just hoping that his flat mate would be agreeable to his desired terms for the night.

As he opened the door he noticed himself to have the whole place to himself, not a peep could be heard. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock appearing to be out. He called out, but gained no response.

The mail as always, was left for him on the side table by the stairs, and was staring at him menacingly, oh how he hated mail, it was almost always just bills, he scooped it up on his way past and climbed the seventeen stairs to his and Sherlock's flat, he dropped the mail on the bench and did a quick scout of the place, calling out to confirm Sherlock was indeed not home. Confirming his absence, he put the kettle on and moved, with the mail over to what had become his designated chair. Listening for the kettles whistle, he flipped though the envelopes muttering to himself.

"Bill, bill, junk mail, Sherlock's, bill, hello then, what's this?"

The last envelope, white like the others, but with his name hand written on it, appeared to be some kind of card. Opening it first, it was from his old army buddy, Scott Smith. It was a buck's night invite for the following Friday night. It was an unexpected, but not unappreciated gesture. The kettle started to whistle, reading over the details as he walked into the kitchen it stated.

Dear John, (we always hated getting those didn't we! Hahaha)

You'll never believe it, but I'm tying the knot with Katheryn~Ann!

Anyway to celebrate my last weekend of freedom…(well actually the wedding is next year, but its on pain of abandonment at the alter if I show up sloshed) I am throwing a stag party and you are invited! The details still need to be ironed out but the night shall begin at the Iron Maiden Pub in Piccadilly Circus!

Time: 7pm – LATE!

Dress: Neat casual

Company: not tonight mate!

RSVP: ESSENTIAL! Please call on ####-###-###

Putting the invite down and making himself a cup of tea, he played with the idea of going, it was not that he didn't want to catch up with a few of the old boys, but Sherlock had this…habit, of pulling him away from the rest of the world. It had actually gotten to the point where he had not had a date in six months. Taking a sip of his tea, he got a fry pan and the ingredients for a vegetable omelet out. He'd recently managed to actually snare one of the vegetable crisper draws for his own, non-experimental, use. Determined to try and be a bit healthier. Whisking the eggs while thinking about the invite, he decided he would go and called Scott up while the fry pan warmed.

Scott picked up after only a few rings and the regular pleasantries and how do-you-do's where exchanged.

The conversation practically jumped straight into party talk.

"So ya are comin' then John? Seems like for'ver since we saw ya last, always run'n off after that detective an' all"

"Of course, not going to leave you hanging, though I wouldn't mind a bit more information on the evenings entertainment. Hang on a moment Scotty, I'm going to put you on speaker while I cut up the veg."

"Yah, yah, o'course Capt. Well now, we're gonna start off at the pub, as the invite says, then we're off to a club for a bit, I'm thinkin' a bi place, be more comfortable for Benny and ya'r good self and…"

"Wait? What?" John interrupted, splattering "Oh, not you too, you know full well I'm not gay, for Pete's sake, you were the best man at Odette's and I's wedding!"

"Yah, but that was then, this be been'n now, I been read'n ya blog, I heard stuff, so, ya mighta been into ladies once upon a time, so yar bi, no biggy, but please don't bring 'is lordship along, can do wi'out watchin ya serve 'im han an' foot all nigh'."

"But I'm not, and I don't, Sherlock and I are best friends, that's all, flat mates, seriously! This is getting out of hand!" John groaned, attacking what was left of his carrots with great vigor.

"And so what if I do some stuff for him" John continued, "he's given me a reason to live again, I can never repay him that debt, so make I him tea, make sure he eats, sleeps, doesn't break things, leave dates and work early, get slapped by people, take ASBO's for him…" John trailed off; he was digging his own grave.

"Hey, hey, tis cool, no har'm meant, It's ya'r life an' all, still, Benny 'ill prefer somethin' in his interests too, even if ya' do prefer the ladies an' besides, ya need a night off babysittin'. And, if ya' happen to look the o'ther way, none o' us will comment, ya' know that. Besides, I'm happy for ya, fin'lly movin' on an' all, was gettin' a wee bit worried…Anyways, as I was sayin' an' all, then we might go laser taggin, or maybe that before the club, no' sure yet…"

"No, wait, lets get this clear, I don't babysit Sherlock and do you really think I've forgotten Odette, forgotten Merida, you really think I'm that sort of person, I will never forget them, or forgive myself for what happened!"

"John! Tha's not what I meant an' ya know it, seriously, when was the las' time ya spoke of 'em eh? Does ya' precious Sherlock even know 'bout 'em? I'm one of the few who knows the truth behind 'three continents Watson, so don't ya go puttin' this one on me matey."

"Fine. Sorry. Bye. See you Friday" And John hung up. He was shaking with anger, he knew it was wrong to have attacked Scott like that; the guy hadn't done anything wrong, but still. He had slandered Sherlock, well, no, he hadn't, not really, he hadn't said anything that wasn't true, John had said all that stuff, but he enjoyed it, didn't he?

He was shaking when he plated his now cooked omelet, and it was in sudden a fit of rage that he threw the plate to the ground, causing it to shatter, the sound echoing as the china smashed and the omelet splattered. He eyed it sadly, the omelet had had such potential, he slowly lowered himself, finding that he was sitting hunched up under the table, chin to his knees, his head not quite touching the bench surface, still eyeing the mess he'd made.

SHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSONSHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSON

Sherlock, who had been testing a new form of hiding, sitting hiding in the linen cupboard, had heard the entire conversation and had gathered the gist of the conversation from the way John had said 'hello'. Being the nosey prat that he was however, it had never occurred that he should not have been eavesdropping, or that he should have told John he was home. Well, it might have, he may have just ignored it.

It had come as quite the surprise to hear of 'Odette and Merida' obviously John and this woman's daughter, but what had happened to them, why was it John's fault, John was so caring and loving, it wasn't funny, it actually bordered on dangerous at times, no, wait, bad thoughts, sentimental thoughts, bad Sherlock. Still… he had to know more.

Moving quietly down the hall he saw his friend eyeing off what was his shambles of a meal. He looked like a lost and lonely puppy. Even with his back to Sherlock, lost in his own world, he looked cute. No, bad Sherlock.

Sherlock quietly grabbed the paper towel from the bench and went around the table so as not to startle John with his sudden appearance. He knelt down and started cleaning up the mess, putting it all in the bin.

"I thought cleaning was classified under 'boring'"

"If I am going to fit under there with you, I require room, this mess is in my way, and thus the logical thing to do is move it."

"Indeed, and why are you planning on joining me here? When did you get home, I didn't hear you come in"

"I was home before you" the lanky detective replied, folding himself to fit under the bench cross table with John, the warm mess lying forgotten in the bin.

"Oh" was all the reply he received.

"I may be new to this whole 'friendship thing' so do bare with me John, but is not it a show of compassion and friendship to keep company with someone when they are unhappy?"

"Yes Sherlock"

"Am I not doing this correctly?"

"You are Sherlock"

"Is it helping?"

John turned his head to look into Sherlock's eye's the concern seemed genuine enough. Sherlock was no sociopath, just miss understood John thought, and he was doing it again, defending Sherlock.

"What is going on inside your head John" Sherlock mused, more to himself then John, observing him intently.

"Why do you want to know, surely you've deduced it by now"

"Again, detective, not mind reader, really, you'd think people would understand the difference in this day and age." The last part muttered more to himself then to John.

"Sorry Sherlock"

"Don't be"

Silence rang between them, neither of them moved for a while.

"So I guess you heard the entire conversation with Scott then?"

"I did"

"You have questions"

"I always have questions, but yes"

"Well after this evening I will never speak of the subject again, but be warned, do not push my buttons Sherlock, and I want an exchange of information"

"Hmmm?" The quiet once more fell.

After a few moments of watching his feat, John peered back at Sherlock.

"I want to know why you and your brother don't get along, and don't tell me it is a clash of intellect, cause I know that's rubbish"

Sherlock seemed deep in thought, his silver eyes shrewdly watching John for something, John didn't know what, but he had been in the gaze before, he knew flitching meant no deal. He held his ground.

"Deal, you first though"

"And they say I have trust issues" John said as much to himself as Sherlock.

"All right, but don't interrupt, I cannot promise I will get it all out and it will make you the only living person who knows my life's story, except maybe Mycroft, but I'm not sure that he classifies as a person…" Sherlock smiled genuinely at this, but said nothing, turning to watch the kitchen cupboards, waiting for John to start. He would of course observe John as he spoke, but he found, with John at least, that he worked better without an audience.

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Not to beg or anything, but feedback is really appreciated, (it also helps me write :P)


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